Hey, you look a little pale

Generally, when you hear that at a club, it means you’ve done your makeup really well.

I don’t wear make up…

I was at Gulag last night. I like the joint, but rarely manage to get there, as it’s generally on when I’ve got other things. So it was with joy and inner fulfillment that I finally managed to go, because it’s one of those clubs that actually looks just like a goth club from movies! It’s got a (fake) bone-pit in a fireplace, walls that look like they’re going to crumble, shattered mirrors all over the place. Très fancy… Except that I’ve been rather sick with gastro lately, and could not enjoy it as much as I’d hoped.

So sick in fact that I didn’t even remember to take anything other than a bunch of charcoal tablets. No camera, no fancy doodads. Just activated charcoal and me.

One of the wonders of activated charcoal is that it basically makes everything in your gut a bit more cohesive. And black. Very black. Those goths that are so goth that they shit black, yeah, they’re taking activated charcoal. It has other fantastic properties, like insanely large and absorbent surface areas that basically soak toxins and excess acids up inside your stomach. Drink like a fish and still be under .05 BAC. Fantastic way to cheat at drinking competitions with a little forethought. Back to the story.

Due to being sick all week, I forced myself to go out, as I was beginning to go stir crazy. This proved to be a bad idea. I couldn’t shift my legs or posture without acute discomfort. And this was all happening during a friends birthday party.

Now, as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, we all know and love the general promiscuity that happens to be shoved in (on) our faces in the scene. Hooray! Tonight was no exception to this rule. But instead of rising to the challenge, I was attempting not to explode excreta all over the wall behind me in a display that would have made Jabba the Hutt proud of the indulgent excesses. It makes me think of that Men Without Hats song. The one that goes “You can dance! You Dance! You’re going to shit all over your pants.”

Although, there were fewer midgets with wind instruments.

Eventually, I stepped outside for air. It was at this point, a wonderful and concerned security guard asked if I was ok, and said to me “You’re looking a little pale”.

We’re at a goth club. I don’t wear make up. I’m looking a little pale.

Ladies and gentlemen, that’s a quantitative “If symptoms persist, consult your mortician” moment.

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